


Extremes

by glitterandgin



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Character Study, Depression, Mental Health Issues, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 12:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3208421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterandgin/pseuds/glitterandgin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief character study of Anders with bipolar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extremes

At first, it’s hard to tell the difference between how he’s feeling and the typical malaise that comes from being trapped in a tower for the foreseeable future. But slowly, like the drip of molasses from a bottle, he becomes aware of the fact that this is much different. It feels like a boulder is seated on his chest each time he inhales. It takes twice as much time as usual to do the simplest tasks, and when he manages to complete them, he’s so exhausted that he wants to curl up on the stone floor and sleep until he dies.

At night, when he’s certain nobody’s awake or paying attention, he puts his hands to his temples and attempts a simple healing spell. He can’t be sure, but it feels like even his mana is responding sluggishly. Perhaps he’s just getting sick. That has to be it; that has to be the explanation; he’ll be back to normal as soon as the spell takes effect. He lowers his hands, breaths coming short and shallow. It has to have worked. When he feels the same aching nothingness that’s threatened to engulf him for the past three days, he doesn’t bother trying to cry quietly.

Every atom in his body wants to tell Karl, to find comfort in his arms until something changes (because it _has_ to, this can’t be permanent), but through the haze of pain and despair he knows what a bad idea that is. Karl wouldn’t tell anyone—he’s proven that time and time again—but that doesn’t mean that it would stay a secret. If the Templars found out…No. That doesn’t bear consideration. He won’t let anyone find out. He just has to feign normalcy long enough for normalcy to return.

The next weeks are, if anything, more agonizing than the past four days. If he thought everyday activities were draining, smiling and joking with the other apprentices is like trying to cast a lightning storm with no mana. It’s worse than impossible; it’s going to kill him. He’s ready to give up and never leave bed again, let the bloody Templars do what they will, when it finally abates.

As suddenly as it began, it disappears until he almost wonders if he was imagining it the entire time. In fact, he’s never felt better. It’s like an endless afterglow, all bright bliss and perfect moments. The hours spent asleep dwindle with each passing day, until he stops altogether. And the best part is, he doesn’t even feel any different without sleep. His lessons and past experiences tell him there should be some consequences to forgoing sleep, but they’re nowhere to be found. He feels better than great. He feels immortal, and he’s certain he would enjoy it more if he wasn’t confined.

That week, during their outdoor stretching exercises, an idea strikes him. It’s so perfect that it seems as though it was sent by the Maker himself. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Fast, faster than he thinks he’s ever moved before in his life, even that time when he accidentally set a chantry mother’s skirts on fire, he darts past the Templars guarding him and the other apprentices and dives into the lake.

He hasn’t swum in years. If he’s completely honest, he’s not technically swimming, just flailing wildly in hopes of reaching the other side. By some miracle, he does. He makes a cursory attempt at shaking the water off of him before he’s sprinting, flying in the first direction that strikes his fancy. He’s never going back.

He spends a week in glorious freedom before he’s caught. He knows he should be worried—it’s not like Templars are known for sparing the rod—but he’s still glowing from the beauty of life. Let them try to punish him. He can overcome anything, and he will. He’s—

Being crushed under the weight of that invisible boulder again. If he thought the first experience was agonizing, this is even worse. It’s reminiscent of that time he jumped out of a tree to see if he could fly—weightless freedom for a few brief moments, followed by all-encompassing pain. At least then he was able to make the pain stop somewhat. He knows now that the same method doesn’t work for this.

He wonders if this mood will be permanent, if that effervescent joy was a cruel joke the Maker made to show him what he could have had instead of this. He almost wants someone to ask him what’s wrong, to give him the opportunity to lighten the burden. He’s not sure if he would take the chance, but he’d still like the option. At least he wouldn’t have to pretend that he’s fine anymore.

After a week, it’s too much. It feels like it will never end, and the possibility that that’s true is more painful than any punishment the Templars could concoct. Let them flog him again; it would be more merciful than this.

If he wasn’t constantly monitored by the Templars, he would end it. He’s stopped counting the times he’s caught himself fantasizing about a length of rope and an empty storage closet. He tried sneaking off to make his fantasy a reality once, and nearly succeeded—he’d even managed to slip the noose around his neck before some Templar initiate nearly kicked the door down on him.

“What are you doing?” the Templar had barked.

“Decorating,” he’d replied with only a shadow of his former wit. “I thought the place would be much brighter if we hung a few baubles around. Have you seen how dull this closet is? It’s a crime.”

The Templar had frogmarched him to Irving and Greagoir, who—of course, because even Templars know there’s more than one way to escape a tower—prescribed more guards.

Just when he’s decided to end the charade of normalcy, he notices that the misery is ebbing away. He smiles. As long as it goes away in time, he doesn’t have to admit it’s a problem, let alone try to confide in someone. Telling someone would make it real, something that can’t be ignored and compartmentalized as unrelated incidents. It isn’t until he meets Nathaniel that he realizes that he can only live with it if he makes it real.


End file.
